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As applause thundered around her, Jane stared at the chiseled face of the blond man who had been guzzling shots of tequila all evening. His full pink lips were pursed, his facial muscles taut. His fingers curled around his empty shot glass. While his companion cheered with the rest of the audience, he didn’t lift a hand to clap. Clearly he was unimpressed with her and her music, but at least he hadn’t gotten loud and raucous. Yet.
Jane eyed the red-haired woman sitting in the back. Lisa Taylor, agent extraordinaire, had come to this show just to see Jane Rock and the Stones. The set had gone well, and Jane smiled. Within an hour, God willing, her band would have representation and be on its way to the big-time.
“Encore, encore!” voices shouted.
Jane turned to Fernando, her bass player, and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said into the microphone. “You’ve been a great audience.” She signaled Lenny, her keyboardist, and began the count.
“Aw, fuck me! Not more of this musical atrocity!” The voice boomed above her count.
Jane turned to stare at that same man who held another shot glass to his shapely lips. His chiseled jawline tensed. She inhaled. Should have followed your instinct, Jane, and asked to have him thrown out before it got to this. He might look like a Greek god, but she was hoping the bouncer would have him booted.
“Hey, Jim!” she called to the large man sitting by the entrance. “Could you get rid of that guy?”
Jim, burly and balding, headed toward asshole’s table.
Jane closed her eyes to clear her head. She tilted her head back and let her long dark hair tickle her bare back. Feel the music, Jane. Let it take you. The pure rawness of rock and roll always moved her. The cheers of the audience were icing on the cake.
She breathed in, visualizing success. Though regionally Jane Rock and the Stones had been headlining for a few years, they hadn’t yet made it nationally. Lisa Taylor could change all that. Jane exhaled and opened her eyes.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The asshole’s voice was deep and just a little husky.
Sexy, actually—a bit of a contradiction to his clean-cut looks. Gorgeous, yes, but very clean cut, as though he had been reared on milk and corn with a side of caviar and educated at the finest prep schools in the country. His honey blond hair was cropped fairly short above his ears, and his striped cotton shirt screamed Ivy League. All he needed was tortoiseshell glasses to complete the look.
To cover those smoky green eyes, though, would be a sin. Even from the stage, they smoldered. Not Jane’s type at all. No, she preferred long-haired rockers. Hmmm…asshole would look great with long hair. Wavy blond locks feathering around his perfectly-shaped face, dipping just a touch into those long-lashed green eyes…
“I’m kickin’ you outta here, is what I’m doin’.” Jim’s Southern accent boomed over the din in the audience.
“I haven’t done anything.”
Jane grabbed her mic and took a deep breath. “You’ve been rude all night,” she said. “You’ve been drinking like a fish, and now you’re interrupting my music.”
Asshole scoffed. “You call that music?”
His companion touched his arm. “Calm down, Chandler.”
Chandler. Perfect rich boy prep school name. “Uh, Chandler?” she said into the mic.
“What?” He jerked his arm away from his friend.
“If you have such a problem with my music, why exactly are you here? There are plenty of other clubs where you could harass the talent.”
He scoffed again. “Talent?”
Jim yanked him out of his chair. “I said you need to leave, friend.”
Jane’s blood boiled. But she had the rest of her audience to think about. Focus, Jane. Don’t let him get to you. She closed her eyes again. Time to get ready for her encore.
“I bet Jane Rock isn’t even your real name!”
Her eyes popped open. As
shole, er, Chandler, again. Who did he think he was?
“Just something you made up to make yourself sound like a rock star.”
Jane seethed and the hair on her arms stiffened. “Jim, please.”
